


The Princeling and the Hero

by Ebhenah



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Fabled Voltron: A VLD Fairytale Exchange 2019, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gay Shiro (Voltron), Healthy Relationships, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Lance disguised as a girl, Love at First Sight, M/M, Missing Family, Mistaken Identity, POV Lance (Voltron), Princess and the Pea retelling, Romantic Fluff, Travel, healthy alcohol usage, newlyweds, shance, strained family relations, supportive family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebhenah/pseuds/Ebhenah
Summary: Prince Lance, youngest of five siblings hatches a plan to visit his sister as his birthday approaches and plans are being made for finding him a betrothed. Things don't go quite as expected and he finds himself alone in an unfamiliar country in the midst of a storm, only to be rescued by a handsome hero fit for the most epic of ballads!All is not quite as it seems in many ways, but maybe Lance can find happiness at the end of this unpredictable journey!





	The Princeling and the Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fabled Voltron: A VLD Fairytale Exchange 2019 as a gift for [@arts_holy](http://twitter.com/arts_holy)! I kind of ran with one of the prompts "a Mulan AU or honestly any princess AU" and went with a Princess and the Pea re-imagining. I hope you like it!!
> 
> Big thanks to [Punk](http://twitter.com/PunkInGlitter) for betaing this for me, any remaining errors are mine alone!

Once upon a time, in Kingdoms far, far away, three of his favorite people were building lives that didn’t involve him anymore, and he was trying really hard to be happy for them. He really was… but it was not an easy feat.

The youngest of five close-spaced children, Prince Lancel didn’t have the best prospects. One by one, he watched his older brothers and sisters meet suitor after suitor until they finally fell in love. They had opulent, joyous weddings that brought happy tears to his eyes. Then, with the exception of his eldest brother Crown Prince Luis, who would one day rule their own kingdom, one by one, Lance watched his beloved siblings climb into their marriage coach and drive off to their honeymoon, then to their new homes in other Kingdoms- each one further than the last.

Lance loved his home, he had no real desire to leave it- especially not to go as far away as his sisters had- but it seemed like that would be his lot, too. His parents were kind and loving, for which he was grateful. He didn’t have to worry about being married off to someone he didn’t care about- but it was hard to be sure that any of the suitors that had come calling were interested in who he was, as a person, and not just the title that came with his hand.

He missed his sister Veronica desperately. She was level-headed and smart and he valued her advice greatly. The days that brought the arrival of her letters were always his favorites, but as she settled into married life and took up more of the responsibilities of helping her spouse rule, the time between each one grew longer and longer… and even if they’d been daily occurrences, he doubted they would salve his wish to hear her voice and see her face once more.

Despite his erratic reports from tutors, he’d always been capable of being a good student and excelling in subjects that caught his attention- most especially cartography and astronomy. Even now that he was learning more practical aspects of running a country- taxation, animal husbandry, diplomacy, history of law and other dry, monotonous subjects- he still found his feet leading him to the observatory on clear nights to gaze at the stars, and to the map room when clouds obscured the stars, pouring over the oldest of the maps and marveling at how much more knowledge they had now. Studying old maps revealed to him a wonderful discovery- Veronica’s new home wasn’t actually as far as it seemed. 

There was an old road, barely more than a footpath, really, that cut through the mountains at the Eastern edge of the Kingdom. It was too narrow, and too sparsely populated for a royal procession, and it crossed through a tiny Kingdom which was… rather… cloistered. But still, he could find no indication that road was no longer in use… and while a royal procession through it was not possible, certainly a single rider with a small cart could travel it easily! 

Instead of two full months of steady travel, through three different allied Kingdoms, if one cut through the mountains, the travelling time between his Castle and the one where Veronica resided could be measured in _days_! She was closer than his family’s own hunting lodge! 

That discovery led to an idea taking root in Lance’s mind. He spent all of the fall and winter planning and gathering information. He carefully phrased questions to his sister about the political climate with her neighbors, the weather, when planting and harvest would likely occur and the prevalence of cut-throats and highwaymen, presenting them as the correspondence of a concerned brother learning about how other leaders addressed concerns of ruling. He read and reread her responses until he’d committed them all to heart.

Each morsel of information helped him fine tune his plan. He created and discarded a number of ideas based on the letters she sent, and spent the entirety of both the fall and the winter preparing. Spring was early that year, the sun warming the land as if it knew how desperately Lance was counting the days until the mountain roads would be safe and shepherds would be calling down their flocks to be shorn. Once that happened, that narrow road would see any number of eldest daughters bringing carts of sorted wool to the textile district to be cleaned, carded and sometimes dyed; and any number of eldest daughters, returning with carts full of supplies they’d gotten in trade for their wool. Such was the level of traffic on the roads at that time, that guards were posted along the routes. 

With the right clothes, a sturdy horse, and a small cart, Lance could safely cross the mountains in a week, maybe ten days if the weather turned. He kept his ears pricked for word that guards had been deployed to the textile district, despite fighting his own nerves to seem calm and even bored as he played with his niece and nephew, sat through his lessons, and conversed with his parents about the suitors that had sent their intentions to spend the entirety of the summer season at their Court to try to win the hand of the youngest Prince. He was even looking forward to meeting the various young Royals he hadn’t yet met, and to seeing the ones that he had, again. Especially since he planned to be back at home before the first arrivals, armed with knowledge gleaned from Veronica and bolstered by time spent with his beloved sister.

The very last element of his plan to come together was his disguise, because he knew that he wouldn’t make it far on his own without one, and that it was utterly reckless to advertise his high birth when travelling alone on the road. He’d begun to think he would have to take a servant into his confidence, which carried the risk of them reporting to his parents or his brother. He’d gone to the chapel to light candles for Veronica, Rachel, and Marco and their families, as was his habit, and after his devotions he just happened to stumble onto a rehearsal of the spring pageant. The spring pageant was a highlight of the season, the Crown and the Church co-operating to sponsor and put on an evening of entertainment to cap a market day and fair after the hard work of planting was done.

Performers milled around the small churchyard and volunteers dug through racks of costume pieces from previous years to select options that could be reused or altered to fit the stories and sketches that had been chosen for this year’s celebration. In the hustle and bustle, he was all but invisible and it wasn’t difficult to stick to the shadows until he was able to hide himself in the rows of rejected costume pieces. By the time he returned to his room, he’d managed to find everything he needed. 

He slept soundly that night, the relief of everything falling into place lulling him into sweet dreams of being reunited with Veronica, and within a week, he was donning that disguise and leaving a note for his family to prevent them from worrying overmuch.

His first day on the road sped by. Slipping into the throng of people leaving the walled city he’d grown up in, he walked beside the docile gelding he’d borrowed from the stables until his feet hurt, then took a seat in the small cart that carried his luggage- his royal finery tucked into rough burlap grain sacks he’d spent the winter smuggling back to his suites. The wig he wore itched and felt oddly heavy on his head, and he wasn’t accustomed to navigating quite so much fabric but it was no more uncomfortable than armor, or the formal clothes of Royal events with the starched collars and heavy velvet and satin raiments. He was excited and bursting with gleeful pride at how well he’d planned his adventure.

The second day was… significantly less fun. His feet throbbed worse than the morning after his first Winterlude Ball, where he’d danced all night in highly fashionable deerskin boots with an absolutely darling exaggerated spool heel and then ignored his valet’s coaxing to soak his feet before collapsing into bed shortly after dawn. Which was to say, his feet hurt _terribly_. Riding in the cart took up significantly more of his time, and as the crowd spaced out and dwindled at each crossroad, there were fewer and fewer interesting things to keep his mind occupied. The sacks stuffed with his clothing and toiletries made for much more comfortable lounging than sleeping and he re-evaluated his initial plan to sleep in the cart like most of the travelers. He certainly could afford a bed at an Inn… the question was more a matter of whether it was worth the risks it could create. 

Staying at an Inn meant interacting with people that might remember him if his family sent people out looking for him. It meant advertising that he had at least some coin to the people around him on the road, any of whom might be unscrupulous enough to target him for a robbery- or worse. It meant potentially stopping earlier in the evening than he’d like, and possibly leaving later in the morning than he wanted. 

Ultimately, he decided to stick to his initial plan. There was a reason he’d settled on it in the first place, and while he’d been born into luxury, he wasn’t so spoiled that he couldn’t deal with a few days of discomfort and poor sleep. After all, the more distance he covered in a day, the faster he’d be done with travelling.

It took four days to reach the textile district in the foothills of the mountains that he’d set his mind on as the last push of his journey. By the time he found a secluded place to bathe and eat and settle in for the night, he was well over any excitement and novelty that his adventure had held. His food supplies were running low after the bread he’d packed had developed fuzzy green patches he was pretty certain he wasn’t supposed to eat- leaving him with some dried venison, a hunk of cheese, and a couple of handfuls of currants and roasted nuts. He was shocked at how quickly his available options had lost all appeal, but this early in the spring there were no ripe berries or wild fruits along the road that he could identify. He couldn’t wait until he could have a hot meal, and maybe some wine, when he got to his sister’s.

Once again, he was able to slip into a throng of people as they left the textile district in the morning. This time, though, he fully understood why people’s spirits weren’t higher. He was getting a very different view on his country than he had ever encountered from his life in the castle and his supervised visits out into the countryside. This crowd was significantly friendlier than the people who had left the Capital with him. Most of them were girls within a few years of his age, and they were pleasant and cheerful, but far from excited at the prospect of a potential adventure. Some were younger, clearly nervous, and the older girls tended to be playfully teasing of them while also encouraging and protective. He was surprised how quickly they accepted his claim that his family lived near the border with Kerberos on land his father had only just inherited, which was why none of them had seen him before. 

One of them, a pretty blond with freckles named Ina nodded sagely and said, “ahhh you must mean the Iverson homestead. Good flock. Very good flock. You’ll do well there.” That seemed to be all anyone needed to consider him one of them and he was treated to all the local gossip.

It was surprisingly similar to the rumors and scandals from Court: eligible bachelors, new betrothals, growing families, potential infidelities, money troubles, and the like. Then one of them, a boisterous girl with dark skin and hair, sparkling brown eyes and bright smile said something that stopped his laugh in his throat.

“Di’ja hear?” she said loudly, swatting her old mare with a stick lightly, “the baby Prince ran away!”

Which was… offensive really. First of all- he was no baby! Just because he was the youngest of his siblings didn’t change the fact that come midsummer, he’d be 21 years old! Second of all- he hadn’t ‘run away’! He was visiting his sister… on an unofficial, unsanctioned, secret journey. He’d left them a letter explaining it!

“Is that the handsome one? Or the girly one?” another girl asked, “the really dashing one moved away, and I can never remember which is which…”

“You can’t tell the difference between Crown Prince Luis and Princeling Lancel?” snorted the boisterous girl, “in that case, I’d like to sell you this bundle of silk I’ve got on my cart!”

‘Princeling’? Really?? His nephew was already too old to be called Princeling, and he was barely seven summers old!

“You aren’t funny, Nadia,” chided Ina, “not everyone is as invested in the royal family as you are… Crown Prince Luis is the handsome one, Jenny.”

Lance opened his mouth, ready to defend his own handsomeness, because… well… just… _because!_ He was plenty handsome, thankyoukindly! At the last second though, he thought better of it, which worked out well, because apparently, he had his own fans among the young shepherdesses.

“I think Princeling Lancel is the handsome one,” sighed a small brunette he thought was named Dove, or Robin, or something similarly bird-like, “he has such a pretty smile in all the portraits I’ve seen. He looks kind.”

“Mmhmm… Crown Prince Luis is _old_,” added another, “Princeling Lancel is so elegant and tall... Mama said he’ll be getting betrothed this year. That there will be suitors coming from far and wide! Can you imagine?”

“Must be nice not to have to choose from the same dullards ye’ve known since the cradle,” Nadia sighed. 

“I don’t think I’d want to wed a stranger,” mused Ina, “familiar might be boring, but new and exciting can mean unknown risks.”

“Says the girl who is all but betrothed to the brewer’s son,” teased Jenny, “one of the two handsome boys in leagues!”

“Ryan and I aren’t even _courting_,” Ina said blandly, rolling her eyes,

“Well, in _that_ case… I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I made him a flower crown for Mayday?” Nadia’s smile reminded him so much of his sister Rachel’s that it made his chest ache. How much mischief had followed Rachel bumping his knee and flashing that exact smile at him? Too much to recall. He missed them all so much. 

Next year, he promised himself. He’d see them all next year when he wed… and he was mere _days_ from seeing Veronica again.

“Feel free,” Ina answered smugly, “but don’t be churish if I offer one to James.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” gasped Jenny, “so bold!”

“I would,” Ina countered, “he’s just a boy, after all. I once saw him fall asleep into his soup after that bad storm.”

“He was exhausted,” hissed Nadia, “he was one of the first to head out to bring in the flocks, and he did not stop until every single lamb and ewe and ram was safely corralled! Including, _your_ family’s.”

“Still just a boy,” Ina insisted mildly.

“Oh Ina, you’d probably say the same thing about the Princeling!”

“Of course I would! People are people- rank and wealth doesn’t change that!”

He liked Ina, Lance decided. He liked them all, really, but Nadia reminded him of Rachel and Ina reminded him of Veronica in her matter of fact assessment of things. Whoever these boys they were discussing were had better appreciate the spirit and intelligence he was seeing in them. All too often, he’d found, girls and women were overlooked and it never ceased to amaze him how people could be so blind and dismissive.

Several of the quieter girls had already split off from the group onto narrow paths that wound up the green hills, headed to their homes. The remainder all decided to take a short break to eat and Lance had never been happier to hear the words ‘we should all share’ in his life. Eagerly, he offered up his portion of dried venison, cheese, nuts and currants. The tiny girl- Pidge, as it turned out- plucked several currants out of the little muslin bag, carefully avoiding the nuts, and gave him a candied plum in exchange. Nadia had half a honeycake to offer for some of his cheese, and Ina swapped some of his venison for some smoked trout. After several days of no variety, it was the best meal he could ever remember eating!

Once they started walking again, Jenny drew them into a song, the simple beat setting a pace for their walking, and the clever lyrics keeping them entertained. As afternoon stretched into evening, though, the wind kicked up and clouds rolled in. Their leisurely pace increased to match and one by one the girls bid their farewells and turned toward their homes. Ina was the last to part ways and with an ominous glance up to the churning sky, warned him to be careful of ‘run-off’... whatever that meant. Smiling, he promised he would and said his good-byes with a wave.

The gentle hills had long since given way to steeper climbs, but he’d scarcely noticed. The girls had been lively and pleasant company, distracting him from paying too much attention to the path itself, and his body was already operating at a previously unheard of level of discomfort, so adding a more strenuous climb had done very little to change that. Without their conversation and laughter, though, Lance had little else to pay mind to _but_ the increasingly narrow, increasingly craggy path. 

The chill worsened until he pulled out the woolen blanket he slept under and used it as a makeshift cloak to try to stay warm. Then the cart had gotten stuck and he’d had to completely unload it and lift it over the loose rocks that were causing the issue before reloading it again. It got dark a lot faster than previous nights, and since he wasn’t able to find a safe place to spend the night, he was forced to set up his little lantern for the first time. It cast strange shadows over the path, but saved him from leading his horse onto unstable ground at least three times, so he decided he could deal with the spookiness. 

The mountains were just rock, after all, and with so many sheep and goats in these hills, the few predators would almost certainly ignore a traveler like him in favor of easier, more familiar prey. There was no reason to be scared. He was perfectly safe. He was a capable fighter, a capable hunter, and he’d already been travelling for days with complete competence. Rocks and dark and that odd rumbling noise he heard from time to time when the wind shifted held no danger for him. The road was old and narrow, but it was safe, and once he was through the mountain path, he’d be that much closer to his sister. He just… had to keep going until he found a good place to rest for the night.

Several hours later he’d come to the sad conclusion that the ‘good place to rest for the night’ had been the clearing where he’d bid farewell to Ina… because the path just kept getting narrower and more treacherous. The rock walls that rose up from the less-than-ideal only got more sheer and more steep. He started to realize that the occasional blockage of fallen rocks and brush looked so familiar, because he’d seen them before- when the river that ran near the Royal Hunting Lodge flooded. With a sinking feeling, he was beginning to think he knew what Ina had meant by ‘run-off’.

If it had been a _bad_ idea to start on the mountain path so late in the day, it had been sheer foolishness to fail to take the worsening weather into account. He was ashamed to admit that it wasn’t until the light drizzle soaked through his blanket-cloak and started to _pool in the cart_ that Lance realized just how foolish he’d been. He watched the mist collect on the walls of the cart and run in rapid little streams to slosh against the hinged and latched back of the cart just as that now-familiar rumble sounded. Thunder. High and deep in the mountains. Too distant to initially concern him… because he was used to life in the Capital, a bustling city with sewers, perched majestically atop a softly sloped hill surrounded by acres of carefully tended, expertly irrigated farmland. 

He watched the rainwater splash in the cart and heard the thunder and terror seized him. Hours. He’d been hearing it for _hours_. High, high in the mountains surrounding him, rain had been falling for hours. The sparse patches of grass and brush, and the occasional, especially resilient trees, would only soak up so much of that rain, and even if it was just this irritatingly persistent drizzle falling, that still added up to a _lot_ of water- and it was all being funneled directly onto the path he was travelling. 

_ Run-off!_

Once that run-off hit, this old road was going to be an old _riverbed_!

He had to get to higher ground, and fast! 

He shed the sodden cloak, throwing the heavy weight of it into the cart, gathered up the yards and yards of wet fabric tangled around his legs, grabbed the little lantern and _ran_ ahead to try to get an idea of what his options were. It had to be at least ten minutes before he found a _fork_ in the road, a wider path curving up. The road was… interesting. Large flagstones set among channels of gravel, slightly higher in the middle than at the edges. It only took him a few seconds to realize that this was a road designed specifically _not_ to turn into a raging river during a rainfall! Perfect! 

Sending a little prayer of thanks to the heavens, he spun, racing back to the horse and cart. By the time he was guiding the horse up onto the side road, there was already icy cold water swirling around his ankles and he could feel debris scratching at his legs. The wig felt like it weighed as much as a small child, but he couldn’t spare the time to remove it and all the tiny hairpins he’d used to secure it.

The thunder had gotten louder and now that the walls of rock that rose up on either side of him weren’t quite as sheer- opening up wider as they rose above him instead of curving inward to obscure the night sky- he could see the way the sky brightened with every flash of lightning that preceded those ominous rolls of thunder. But the wind and the rain had kicked up, and the horse was tired and stressed. Every foot of uphill progress was a hard won victory and Lance tried to keep his attention on that and not on the fact that just on the edge of the small globe of light from his lantern he could see water churning on the road that had lured him out of his comfortable life at the castle in the first place. 

He was still far too close to the rapidly rising water levels for comfort or safety, so it didn’t matter how cold he was (so, so, so cold) or how tired he was (so, so, so tired), or how stubborn the horse was being (so, so, so stubborn)- he just had to _keep going_. Stopping was just… not an option.

To be honest though, he was already fantasizing about finding a sheltered outcrop further up the hill. He doubted that his luck would provide an actual _cave_ or overhang… but he could be ingenious. He had an idea. All he needed was a little jut of stone tall enough and deep enough for him and the horse. Then he’d unload the waterlogged contents of the cart, untie the horse, and _tip the cart_ onto its end. He could drape the wet blanket over the cart shafts, and when he propped the cart against the wall of stone, it would create something of a tent. Then he and the poor, exhausted horse could rest and wait out the rain and the dark. 

Frankly, if he couldn’t manage to upend the cart, he was going to crawl underneath it and just lie on the ground (it’s not like he got any sleep in the cart anyway)… but he really wanted to find some comfort and shelter for the poor animal who was currently balking at the unfamiliar surface of the road.

He’d already given up on ever being dry and warm again, but the thought of being able to _sit down_ under the protection of the wooden cart was pretty much the only reason that he was putting one foot in front of the other at the moment. Too bad the horse wasn’t understanding the sweet promises of rest and shelter and just… so many apples and carrots when they got to Veronica’s home… that he was whispering into its ear.

Why couldn’t horses be as easy to charm with a few sweetly whispered words as country gentry at Court for their first Season?

Giving up on charming the gelding, he resorted to getting ahead of him and pulling on the reins. He could only hope that it would irritate the beast enough that it was willing to take a step in the hopes of biting him or something… because there was _no way_ that he was winning a tug of war with it right now.

Time all blended together. He had no idea if it had been minutes or days or weeks since he’d turned onto this new road, but finally, _finally_ it seemed like he was out of danger from the rising water levels. He’d actually been foolish enough to feel some relief when a new sound joined in with the symphony of misery. A loud, sharp crack sounded, making him freeze in place, dread washing over him. 

Please don’t be the axle. Please don’t be the axle. _Please_ do not be the axle!

Once his feet could move again, he rushed around the horse to check out the cart.

_Please don’t be the axle. Please don’t be the axle. Please do not be the axle!_\- It was like a prayer, at this point. A litany.

It wasn’t the axle. It was the linchpin. 

The part that was so important to the functioning of the cart that it was used as shorthand to describe something irreplaceably vital!

At the moment, the wheel was still attached to the cart, which was a blessing, but Lance could see the split in the wood that passed through the end of the axle and he knew that if he tried to move the cart, even another foot, the wheel was going to come right off. 

He was a resourceful person. He was naturally optimistic and stubborn and bright. His parents had done their best to ensure that all their children were as humble, industrious, and resilient as it was possible for Princes and Princesses to be. He knew that in the light of day, once the rain stopped, he’d be able to come up with a plan for dealing with this, but at the moment it was just too much. 

Rain. 

He’d been defeated by rain.

He _loved_ rain! He used to go _dance_ in the rain as a child- much to the dismay of tutors and nannies and childminders. So, it seemed like adding insult to injury that _rain_ was the source of so much stress and suffering! 

What he _wanted_ to do was scream and rage and cry, but as good as that would feel in the moment, it would also use up the last of his flagging energy, destroy his throat, and leave him with swollen, burning eyes… so he took a deep, steadying breath instead and slowly walked away from the damaged wheel before he did something monumentally idiotic.

“It’ll be okay, right, Kaltenecker?” he asked the horse.

Its name was not Kaltenecker. Lance hadn’t actually bothered to read the name plate in the stable when he’d chosen the gelding. Kaltenecker was the stuffed cow he’d dragged everywhere when he was small. Battered and worn to the point of fragility, the black and white cow made of cowhide stuffed with horsehair and goose down still held a place of honor in his bedchamber. It now sat under a glass cloche on a shelf above his writing desk. 

That toy had gotten him through many a night, frightened and lonely as, one by one, his siblings had outgrown the nursery and been moved into ‘proper chambers’. The gelding was seeing him through another, and since he didn’t know the poor animal’s _actual_ name, he’d decided that Kaltenecker was an appropriate substitute.

“Yeah… you’re right. Everything will look better in the morning. We’re not made of spun sugar. We aren’t gonna be defeated by a bit of rai-”

“Hail, the road!” A voice rang out over the howls of the wind and the steady rumble of raindrops hitting stone.

Lance was pretty much sure that he’d either died, or was in the grips of such a powerful fever that he was hallucinating! 

When the lightning flashed again Lance was greeted with the silhouette of a rider on a massive horse, pulling something he couldn’t quite make out. “Hail, the rider!” he called back, deciding that it was highly unlikely that any bandits or highwaymen would be on _this_ road, at _this_ hour, in _this_ weather. 

As the rider pulled closer, Lance could see that what he was dragging was a very small covered cariole. “It looks like you’ve had a difficult evening,” the rider said warmly. “Broken axle?”

“Thankfully, no,” Lance sighed, “a cracked linchpin. Easier to fix, at least.”

“Still stopped you in your tracks tonight though.” The rider dismounted with the kind of effortless grace that told Lance that, whoever this was, he was an accomplished equestrian. “And this poor boy looks exhausted. What do you say we unload your cart and get you both somewhere warm and dry to rest?”

“Sweet heavens, that sounds amazing,” Lance said in a gush, practically sagging with relief.

“Alright then,” his rescuer chuckled, grabbing the first soaked grain sack off the cart. “I’m Shiro, by the way. You look like your bones are ice… here…” He shrugged out of his own cloak, a spotted, silvery pelted thing that Lance couldn’t identify. With a twist, he wrapped it around Lance’s own shoulders. It was heavy- too big for Lance’s slender frame- but warmed by his own body heat and much more effective at keeping the rain out than Lance’s woolen blanket had been.

“Well, you are certainly my hero tonight, Shiro!” He stopped, laughing at the inadvertent rhyme. “Shiro, The Hero! That sounds like one of those epic ballads.”

“I doubt anyone would ever write an epic about me,” he answered, shaking his head. He dropped the grain sack into the cariole and turned his attention back to the cart, “I’ll get these bags. You should start unlashing your horse.”

“Right… yes! I will… do that.” He hurried back to Kaltenecker’s side, his cold, stiff fingers fumbling with the wet straps and buckles. By the time he was done, Shiro had emptied his cart. The little cariole was full, oiled canvas lashed to its frame to hold everything in place and, had it not already been soaked through, protecting the contents from the rain.

“Can you ride?” Shiro asked, holding Lance’s lantern aloft. 

For the first time, he got a good look at his rescuer and, oh… wow… he certainly was _handsome_ enough to have starred in many an epic ballad! He was about to make an off-color, overly flirtatious comment about his riding skills when he remembered himself. This wasn’t his Court. He wasn’t charming suitors at a ball. He was disguised as a young shepherdess, lost in the mountains of a country that was not his own, and he had no idea how Shiro would respond to his courtly charms.

“I’m worried about how long you’ve been shivering out here in wet clothing,” Shiro said, his kind, dark eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled encouragingly, “if you know how to ride, I’d feel much better if you rode Ebony here and I could lead your horse…”

“Mmmhmm,” Lance nodded, glancing over at the massive black horse. He was actually quite an accomplished rider, although the horses he was used to were far more… dainty than this one. “Yes. I can… do that. I know how to ride.”

“Oh good. Ebony can be a bit… mulish, but he’s steady. I’m sure you’ll be fine...” Before Lance could even grasp what was happening, Shiro settled his big hands on Lance’s waist and hoisted him up onto the back of the horse. Lance yelped in surprise which earned him an apologetic smile from Shiro as he pressed the reins into Lance’s hands. “He knows the road. The Castle isn’t far.”

“The… Castle?” Lance echoed, shifting around in the saddle awkwardly. The wet skirts of his disguise prevented him from riding properly, but he was able to improvise something close to a side-saddle position that would work short-term.

“Yes, the Castle. It’s official name is ‘Guardian of the Skies’ but no one ever uses that expect during formal events… and speaking of names… you haven’t yet told me yours.”

“Mine? It’s Lancel-uh… yes. Lancella. My name is Lancella.”

“Lancella? That’s a pretty name.” Shiro wedged a fist-sized rock from the side of the road behind each wheel and took up the leads for Lance’s horse, walking beside him on the road.

“Thank-you,” he answered, smiling, “I like your name, too.”

“So I gathered,” Shiro laughed, seemingly immune to the cold rain and his wet clothes. “Heroic.”

“Well, there’s no point in false flattery when the truth is just as effective,” Lance laughed. “Let’s get out of this rain, shall we?”

Shiro seemed to define ‘not far’ differently than he did- or perhaps being cold and wet and exhausted from the days of travelling with little to no rest, made the last leg of the journey seem longer than it actually was. It felt to Lance like it took forever to reach the Guardian of the Skies, and he barely managed to get a glimpse of it in the flashes of lightning before they were settling the horses in the stable and then he was ushered into the kitchens of the Castle.

“Wait here,” Shiro said, positioning Lance near the fire and removing the water-tight cloak and Lance’s dripping blanket. “Sonda will never forgive me if we track water through the common rooms. I’ll go tell her we have a guest, you warm up. I will be right back, Lancella.”

“Thank-you,” Lance said, huddling closer to the warmth offered by the low-banked fire.

Shiro swept out of the room and before he knew it, Lance was handed a warm mug of something sweet and buttery and heavily laced with spirits that had heat blooming in his chest. A tall, severe-looking woman gave instructions to a pair of maids in a short, crisp voice. Falling all over themselves to be the first one to comply, they bustled around him. Fatigue was setting in, and the adrenaline of fear that had pushed him so far was easing off, leaving him drained and a little dazed. 

He was wrapped in a soft quilt and ushered off to guest chambers in a tower. A large copper tub was in the process of being filled with steaming hot water and fragrant herbs and oils in the center of the first room. Beyond that was a bedchamber with a toasty fire being built up in the fireplace and a tall, decadent looking bed that seemed to be on some kind of raised platform, a gently curving staircase leading up to the quilts and furs and piles of pillows. 

One of the maids pointed him at a beautifully painted dressing screen and handed him a bundle of frothy fabric, instructing him to hand over his wet clothing to be laundered before morning. Starting with the deep blue kirtle, the corset, and the layers of flannel petticoats and working down to the bloomers and the stained, torn hose that had borne the brunt of his travels, Lance shed most of his disguise. Layer by cold, clinging, sodden layer, he peeled out of the shepherdess costume and handed off the wet things to the waiting maid. The room was warm, but not warm enough to be completely bare and still damp, so he made quick work of wiping down his pruney, slightly blue-tinged flesh before wrapping himself in the dressing gown he’d been given. He opted to keep the wet, heavy wig in place until he had more privacy. At least he was able to wrap a length of soft, fluffy cotton around the thick braids and squeeze out some of the water, though.

When he stepped out from behind the screen another warm mug was pressed into his hands. This time around, he was familiar enough with it that he could identify butter and lemon and kind of a gingerbread-y combination of spices, heavily laced with brandy- old and smooth and potent. He hummed happily, letting the bloom of heat in his chest spread outward. A thick slice of toasted bread with some kind of preserve was proffered next, probably with the intent to sop up some of the booze he was guzzling before it went to his head. That was fine, he was surprisingly hungry anyway. 

He was not expecting the preserves to be made from onion and port, though! His Court training sprang to his rescue, long conditioning keeping him from making some kind of rude noise at the unexpected taste.

“The onions… they protect the chest,” the maid explained when she saw the way he was eyeing the bread, “the port keeps away the ague. It’s good. Eat. Eat!”

It took a couple of bites to make his expectation match up to the flavors, since the color of the stuff combined with the scent of the hot drink to make him expect black currant and spiced plum compote and what he got was- sweet, tender onion and rich port. It was surprisingly delicious once he got past the disconnect.

“Thank-you,” he said dutifully, “this is tasty medicine! Much better than anything I am used to!”

Her face lit up in a smile and she pressed her hands together, visibly relieved that he was eating and that he was enjoying it. “Your bath is almost ready. Will you be needing assistance?”

He nearly choked. _Assistance?!_ Ohhh boy, the poor maids would be in for quite a shock if they assisted with the bath! Coughing, he shook his head. “Um… no… thank-you… I can handle the bathing on my own!”

“Surely you will want help with your hair!”

“My hair? No… no, I’ll be fine. Truly. You have all worked so hard already. I am more than capable of washing and braiding my own hair.” He smiled warmly, “please, I know how early your day must start… I don’t want to keep any of you from your beds. I really am very self-sufficient.”

“If you are certain…” one of them said hesitantly. He nodded his assurance and she glanced at the others. “Alright- don’t be shy about ringing for help if you require it, and leave the bath water for us to attend to in the morning when we return your clothing.”

He was given yet another full mug of the buttery brandy concoction before he managed to bustle the maids out of the room to deal with his wet clothing and get some rest. The water in the tub was so hot it was just shy of scalding, and while ordinarily he’d be concerned about the effect of too-hot water on his skin, tonight he was more concerned about chasing the ice out of his bloodstream and soaking away some of the aches of travelling. He sank into the tub with a moan that bordered on carnal and stayed there until the water was tepid and the three large servings of warm booze made him feel like he might melt away. After he dried off and changed into the soft linen nightgown he’d been given he literally climbed into bed, the freshly washed and brushed wig hanging near the fire to dry while he slept. 

It wasn’t until he was climbing that staircase that he realized there wasn’t actually any platform, just an absurdly tall stack of mattresses. Distracted by that knowledge, he spent a good few minutes trying to puzzle out the logic of having a bed like this. Was this some way of storing guest bedding that they were forced to work around due to the lack of notice of his arrival? Some investigation revealed that the mattresses at the bottom of the stack were stuffed with horsehair, dense and firm. They were topped by several stuffed with straw, then feathers, and finally several layers of down-filled mattresses- all perfectly fitted to this specific bed. So, it didn’t seem likely that this was some kind of storage solution. The best he could decipher through the haze of exhaustion and brandy was that there was some kind of cultural meaning he was ignorant of to explain why there were twenty (he counted) mattresses and twenty (again, he counted) featherbeds contained under the canopy of this ornate bed. Giving up, he crawled into the bed proper, burrowing under the thick layers of soft quilts and woolen blankets, deeply grateful for the long-overdue rest that awaited him.

He had no idea how long he’d _actually_been listening to the rain buffett against the pretty stained glass window just above his bed, but it felt like it had been _years_! He’d tossed and turned trying to get comfortable, but no matter what he did, it hurt. He must be brewing some pretty impressive deep bruising from too many nights trying (and failing) to sleep in his little cart, because it felt like his bed was made of rocks. Sharp, jagged, rocks. After tossing around for a while, he’d carefully run his hands over and between the first five layers of featherbeds, checking for… lumps or… gravel- he wasn’t really sure what he was checking for, but it didn’t matter, because he found _nothing_! Nothing except soft, pillowy feathers and fluffy down contained within silk and satin and velvet- some of the softest, coziest bedding he’d ever even seen! After that, he’d even tried crawling around so that his head was at the foot of the bed and his feet up by the headboard. To no avail, because no matter how he positioned himself, it always seemed to feel like he had a small mountain range stabbing into his kidneys, or his diaphragm. 

Sleep was beyond his grasp, that was becoming clear. As pretty as the stained glass window was, he couldn’t actually see the sky or watch the rain, which usually helped him when he wasn’t able to fall asleep. So, he lay there, something that felt like a boulder digging into his ribs painfully, listening to the sounds of the storm until he felt like he might scream. Hitting the limits of his patience, he threw back the covers, grabbed a quilt, and stomped down the ridiculous staircase. Within moments he was stuffing his feet into the slippers he’d been given to use, wrapping himself in first the dressing gown and then the quilt and yanking on the (still damp) wig. He pointedly ignored how dramatic he must seem and flung himself out of the room, a small lamp in hand, going in search of a proper window and vantage point in the tower that housed him from which to watch the storm.

Instead, he found Shiro sitting in a little slice of heaven.

Specifically, he found his rescuer sitting on the floor of a room filled with some of his favorite things- maps. He rapped lightly on the frame of the door that was standing open, warm light spilling out into the corridor. Shiro jolted slightly and turned toward the sound. It was unreal how handsome he looked in the flickering light of the fireplace, and his soft, concerned smile did a better job of warming Lance than all three of the mugs of… whatever that stuff was called, had. “Is the storm keeping you awake?” He rose, seemingly ready to go to war with the weather if Lance said it was disrupting his sleep. “Should I see if the kitchens can whip you up a sleeping draught, Lancella?”

Lancella. Right. Sighing softly, he shook his head, “I suspect I won’t sleep until I make it to my sister’s c- um… her home. I have a feeling my impatience to see her is making me restless… that and the aches and pains from too many nights spent in that cart instead of a proper bed.” Not wanting Shiro to worry he smiled reassuringly, “thank-you for the concern, but I am fine, really. I was just searching for a spot to watch the storm. I really like the rain when I’m not caught out in it… but this is better.”

“It is?” The tall man seemed skeptical, his expression growing guarded.

“I love maps,” Lance confided, eyes dancing. “They always make me feel like an adventurer! I love imagining all the exotic places and the exciting journeys that led to their discoveries. Plus, maps are… they are like magic. I mean,” he grabbed Shiro’s wrist and dragged him over to the huge table, bringing his attention to the map that was laid out there. “Look! Look at the scale! This is… an entire island… the cartographer that made this can’t fly. He could never see the entire island from above, but yet… he was able to record it with enough accuracy that someone else could take this image, and use it to find fresh water, or a village. They could look at this parchment and know that this is a forest, and that is a mountain, and that to get from one to the other, they will need to cross a river. But have you ever tried to draw anything that is really large? Something that is so big that you can’t see all of it at once? It’s not easy. It takes a very special talent. A way of… _looking_ that is different than most of us have. Magic.”

“I never really thought of it that way,” Shiro reflected, smiling softly, “I love maps, too… but for a different reason.”

“Really?!?” Lance nearly gaped at him, “I’ve never known anyone else who loved maps like I do before. What’s your reason?”

“They protect people,” Shiro laughed, leaning over the table to unroll another parchment. “Like… yes! Here- do you see that shaded area?” His finger traced a line on the map and Lance nodded, “it’s a flood zone. That is the furthest point that the spring floods have ever reached in the valley. Rich, fertile soil. Very tempting for new arrivals to settle on, but those floods are fast and devastating. You shouldn’t build there. But if we have a few dry years, it can be easy to forget just how far the waters reach in a wet one, and the maps remind us.”

“Oh, I see what you mean… and knowing that area floods means that it is smarter to plant crops that like water and can handle being submerged for a time than ones that are prone to root rot or getting waterlogged- which protects against food shortages.”

“Yes! Exactly!” They shared a pleased smile. 

Now that Shiro had pointed that out to him, Lance could see all sorts of situations where a map provided safety and protection- most obviously to ships looking for a safe place to dock. That thought led to another map being unrolled. Then Shiro brought up landslides and how one could change the course of a river, so previously safe land could be threatened and the importance of keeping maps up to date- which prompted him to go pull an armload of maps out of the shelves to show Lance examples of how the map of a set area could change drastically over the course of time.

Before he knew it, they were chasing after one tangent or another, sharing stories they’d heard about the different countries depicted on the parchments that were piling up on the table. Lance talked about having siblings that married and moved away and how looking at the big maps made them feel closer. He shared how he would measure the distance on the maps in handspans and when he missed his brother or sister he’d remind himself that they were only as far as the heel of his hand to his fingertip five times, or seven, or fourteen- which wasn’t very far at all, really.

“So you feel less lonely?” Shiro asked, having dragged two large chairs over to the table for them to use. “That helps?”

He nodded, “yeah. Most of the time it does. It’s not the same as having them at the table at mealtimes, or hearing their voices… but the maps… make the world seem not quite so big.”

“It’s the opposite for me,” Shiro laughed, “up here in the mountains? There is just this place, and then the little villages in the valleys, and visitors are so rare. The world can feel so small sometimes. Maps remind me that it is so much more than just… what I can see from here.”

“Do you ever think about travelling? Seeing some of these places with your own eyes?”

“All the time,” he said shaking his head, “but… it is impossible. I could never leave.”

He was tempted to argue, but really- what did he know about Shiro’s life? A stablehand likely didn’t have access to the kinds of resources needed to explore the wide world. So, he changed his tactic slightly, “just… pretend. Pretend you could leave Kerberos whenever you wanted. Where would you go first?”

“Not far, actually,” Shiro answered, “Varadero... it’s the capital city of-”

“I know where it is,” Lance laughed, “I grew up there.”

“You did? Is it true that the city surrounds the Castle? The Royal family is just… right there in the middle of everything? Have you ever seen them? What are they like?”

“Wow, you have a lot of questions, huh?” He turned in the chair to face Shiro better, scratching at his scalp- damp wigs were awful. “Yes, the Castle is in the center of Varadero. It’s a walled city, for fortification, so it can be completely contained and self-sufficient for ages if it needs to be… and yes, the Royal family lives in the Castle, so it’s pretty common for them to be out in the city. I’ve seen them… they’re…” He trailed off, not sure how to handle this conversation. How to describe his family without giving himself away. “They’re regal, I guess.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Shiro’s dark eyes brightened with curiosity and he leaned closer and Lance couldn’t find it in him to deny him the answer to his question.

“I… do. Princess Veronica. She was married the autumn before last. There was a festival, and a parade. The celebrations lasted all night.” He remembered how happy his sister had looked, dressed in her bridal finery, late blooming flowers braided into her hair, a crown of currants and grapevines holding her veil in place. She’d been alight with love as she tossed her little bundles of sweets and blessings to the crowd that had gathered. “She was… so beautiful! She wore a gown that looked like the ocean- all blues and silvers and greens. Her bride wore a gown tha-”

“Wait… the Princess married a woman?” Shiro cut in, eyes wide. “But… Royalty is obligated to provide heirs- to continue the bloodline!”

“Yes, and so she shall- an heir will be named from an adjunct bloodline… or she and the Queen will raise a foundling and name them heir. Is that… _not_ something you do in Kerberos?”

“No… here… the Prince is expected to wed a Princess from an allied Kingdom and father an heir. Adoption is not an option. At this point, it seems likely that the next heir will be a distant cousin, since… the Royal family seems to be at an impasse.”

“An impasse? That sounds… interesting…”

“The King and Queen are most insistent on a finding a bride that meets their standards… Prince Takashi,” his expression changed slightly, almost as if he was frustrated with the rift within the Castle. “He’s refused all suitors ever since they sent away his closest companion on the grounds that his noble standing meant that he was competing with the Prince for any prospect of suitable breeding.”

“Good for him,” Lance replied with a chuckle, “finding a spouse isn’t a competition and friendships are valuable.”

“That’s not the real reason they sent him away.”

“It’s not?” This was getting _very_ interesting. Lance leaned a little closer, suddenly realizing how much he’d missed Courtly gossip.

“The Prince is expected to wed a _Princess_ and father an heir,” Shiro repeated, “adoption is not an option… and Princes and Noblemen of suitable rank are not invited to be considered for betrothal.”

“Ohhhh… his _closest companion_. But… really? That seems so…”

“Backwards? It is.” He shrugged, “it’s a small country. They claim it is about tradition and protecting the bloodline, but…”

“I was going to say ‘old fashioned’,” he laughed, “and rather counter-productive since if the Prince doesn’t wed, the Crown will pass to a cousin, anyway… but, I don’t live here, so… I will have to defer to your expertise.”

“I still can’t believe that Princess Veronica married a woman!”

“Yes- Queen Allura, of Altea,” Lance answered, “Prince Marco married Crown Prince Regris of Marmora… what? Six years ago now?” Wow… had it really been six years since Marco moved away?

“Altea is our neighbor, too. I had no idea! We are so removed from the rest of the world here.” Shiro ran his hand over one of the many maps they’d pulled out. “News doesn’t often make it all the way to the Guardian of the Skies, it seems.”

“It seems like that would be very peaceful, though,” he observed mildly, “and I’m betting you have some amazing spots for star-gazing. In the city it can get so… here’s the issue. Sometimes all the smoke from the cookfires and braziers and smithies and collieries and everything else, it seems to settle over the city like a fog… you can taste the smoke in the air when it is really still… and it chokes out the stars. You can’t see anything, even when the moon is full. Other times, between the street lamps, and the light spilling from windows and carriages… it is too bright to see the fainter stars. Here? It must feel like you could reach out and… touch them.”

“You like the stars, Lancella?” Smiling softly, Shiro accepted the shift in the conversation.

Lance nodded, “I do… they are… well… they are kind of maps of the heavens, really. Travelers use them to navigate. Bards and poets tell us stories about where the old gods and goddesses reside among them. When I was little, my eldest brother, he used to tell me a story about a ship. A huge, magical ship that sails the skies instead of the seas and casts out nets to catch all the bad dreams of children everywhere. So, even if you are woken in the middle of the night in a terror, you can fall back to sleep and know that the ship is already hard at work to gather the fear and worry in its black nets. Nightmares… they are big, see? Good dreams? The best dreams, they are the stars… tiny and bright and easy to slip through the nets.”

“That’s really lovely. Were you plagued with nightmares?”

He laughed, tugging at his itchy wig and flashing a wry smile, “I was _blessed_ with a vivid imagination. Many a night I ended up crawling into bed with one of my siblings for fear of monsters lurking beneath my own.”

“You can remove that, if you like.” He gestured at Lance’s head, “I already know it is a wig, and it seems quite uncomfortable.”

His face flushed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I should… probably… explain,” he said, feeling awkward.

“You don’t need to. I’m sure you have your reasons for how you present yourself. You met me tonight, you don’t owe me your personal information.”

“Thank-you, Shiro.” Lifting the wig off, Lance let it drop into his lap and couldn’t resist the impulse to run his hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp with a relieved sigh. “Uhhh… I am trying to visit a loved one without attracting undo attention. There are so many young shepherdesses on the roads near here, I was just one face among many.”

“Are you fleeing some sort of danger?” Grey eyes glinting with… something Lance couldn’t quite identify, Shiro leaned closer, “might you still be at risk?”

“No! Oh, no… nothing so dramatic as that,” he assured in a rush, his hand coming to rest over Shiro’s. “Just… I don’t exactly have the blessing of my parents… and travelling alone… I thought, this would be easier.”

Serious, concerned eyes pinned his gaze, holding it for several heartbeats before Shiro nodded, relaxing slightly, “I prefer your natural hair, Lancella.”

Laughing, Lance flushed again, “I’m sure it is a mess at the moment, but thank-you… and it seems silly that you keep calling me that. So, as long as you are careful not to spill my secret around anyone else, you can call me Lance.”

“Lance,” his smile brightened, “that suits you much better, I suspect.”

“Mmm… I don’t like… misrepresenting myself, but my intent isn’t so much to mislead as just to… blend in. There’s no malice, so I hope that offsets the deception in the grand scheme of things. It’s not as though I’d intended to be partaking of anyone’s hospitality under false pretenses.”

“Sometimes, keeping some information to yourself is important,” Shiro said, “often it is simply a matter of safety.”

“Yes! Exactly!” His thumb dragged over Shiro’s knuckles, making him realize he’d never removed his hand from where it lay atop Shiro’s. “I’m glad you understand.”

“I do. The world can be an unwelcoming place at times.”

“Oh, no… that was too dark and sad for this conversation! No more of that! We are either going to commit to the stormy night and tell spooky stories, or we are going to continue to get to know one another.” Grinning, he leaned in to bump his shoulder against Shiro’s, “Hero’s choice.”

“Hero’s choice, huh?” He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

“Well, yeah- you did ride in to save me from the bad weather, didn’t you? So, you are my hero tonight. I already told you this.”

“So you did. Alright… in that case, I want us to get to know each other better.”

“Mmm… smart choice. I’m the youngest of five children, and I believe I’ve mentioned my vivid imagination, right? My spooky stories might just be too much even for my handsome hero. So… actually… let’s start there- do you have any siblings, Shiro?”

As it turned out, he didn’t, but he was very curious about Lance’s and Lance had no shortage of stories he was all too happy to regale the handsome stablehand with about his brothers and sisters. Shiro told him more about Kerberos, and what it was like to grow up and live in the mountains. It seemed tranquil, if a tad lonely. The loneliness seemed to be magnified by the occasional comments Shiro made about the Royal family. It was odd. He would say things that horrified Lance, just… so casually. As if he had no idea how cold and unfeeling they sounded. Lance had grown up learning about the importance of keeping an open mind about cultures that differed from his own, but he was really struggling. It wasn’t that the King and Queen sounded cruel or spiteful… just… so detached and formal, even with their only son, based on the things Shiro said in passing. 

It was so different from his own experience. His parents were busy. The demands of Court had to be met. There were social protocols and politicking that must be respected. They ruled a country and that was never forgotten- but they were warm and loving parents who wanted their children to be safe and happy and Lance and his siblings had grown up secure in the love their parents held for them. That didn’t sound at all like the way Prince Takashi had grown up. All but alone in this Castle, with parents who seemed to value tradition more than the happiness of their only child. 

That… distance and solitude seemed to seep into the lives of everyone around them, as well. Shiro scarcely mentioned his own parents, his stories were focused on the horses he spent so much time with, even as a child, or a few friends he’d grown up with, a cousin he saw once or twice a year, or the goings on of the Castle staff. Surprisingly, he seemed to have an impish streak when he was younger that was closely matched to Lance’s own. In fact, they had both injured themselves sliding down bannisters as children. Lance had been five, broken his collarbone and been confined to bed for over a month. Shiro had been six and it had left him with a scar from cheek to cheek, stretching across the bridge of his nose. His hand had lifted as if to cover the lingering reminder, but Lance had shaken his head and traced the scar with the tip of his finger, confessing that he thought it saved Shiro from being ‘boringly pretty’ and made him seem ‘dashing’ and ‘rakish’, which made Shiro blush adorably.

The fire died down as they talked and when Lance noticed Shiro shiver, he scooted his chair closer and unwound his quilt, wrapping it around them both as he answered more of Shiro’s questions about life in Varadero. He vaguely remembered talking about the spring pageant, leaning against the arm of the chair with his head on Shiro’s shoulder and the quilt bundled right up to their chins, but after that, he was oblivious until he felt a blast of chilly air that made him squawk and jump.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmured, fighting a yawn. “You dozed off for a minute there… but the maids will be arriving to help you get ready for the day soon. You should head back to your room. I’ve got to go check on the horses and find you a replacement for that cracked linchpin.”

“Mmmm,” Lance grumbled, clutching at Shiro’s forearm and barely managing to hang on to what he was saying to him, “five more minutes… so sleepy…”

“No more minutes,” Shiro countered, unwrapping himself from the quilt and rising despite Lance’s squeaks of protest. “But I have an idea.” He scooped Lance up in his arms, the surprise of the unexpected movement waking him with a jolt of adrenaline. “I’ll carry you down the stairs.”

“What? No! I couldn’t ask you to- I can walk the stairs myself! Shiro! This is ridiculous!”

“You had the chance to move on your own,” he pointed out, laughing softly, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “You didn’t take it… so now you are stuck with this.”

“You just cannot resist the impulse to be heroic, can you?” he teased, relenting because he was a sucker for Shior’s smile, he was discovering.

“Something like that,” he answered, nuzzling his nose into Lance’s cheek.

Oh.

Ohhhhhh…

Well, then. That was different. Who was Lance to pass up the opportunity to indulge in a shared attraction just a teensy, harmless bit? “I guess… if I’m stuck with this, I’m stuck with it,” he replied, grinning as he tucked his head up under Shiro’s jaw and wormed one hand out of the snarl of quilt to grip one strong shoulder.

The journey _down_ the stairs took significantly less time than Lance’s exploration _up_ them, much to his disappointment. Far too soon, Shiro was holding him steady as his feet found the floor again. “Thank-you,” he said, voice soft, still pressed against the strong frame of the taller man, “for keeping me company last night. I really enjoyed it.”

“I did, too,” Shiro replied in a whisper. “It has been a very long time since I’ve had such a good conversation with anyone.”

“Maybe I shall encounter bad weather and require rescuing again on my return home,” he teased, his expression coy.

Shiro’s eyes lit up, “I hadn’t even thought about your return trip! You should… if you have the time to spare, that is… you should seek shelter here again!”

“I would never be so bold as to impose on the Royal Family without dire need,” he protested, “but… my cart is old… and the linchpins are delicate… It’s _possible_ that I could encounter the same problem on that mountain pass…”

“Would I be amiss to offer some incentive?” One eyebrow quirked up in question, his head canting to the side slightly as he leaned closer.

“On the contrary,” Lance purred, tipping his chin up in acceptance of the offered kiss, “incentive would be most welcome.”

Lance was far from a stranger to kissing. He’d stolen many a kiss during balls and events and assorted revelry. Cautious and ever aware of his status and those who might choose to exploit it, still, he’d had dalliances at times. Never had a kiss had such an instantly powerful effect on him. The punch of desire was so strong and immediate that he clutched helplessly at Shiro’s shoulder, not trusting his knees to hold him upright without help. Shiro’s hungry, little, feral growl when his lips parted for that questing tongue didn’t help matters, either and Lance was grateful that his hero surged forward, pinning Lance to the solid support of the stone wall.

Sweet Lord, this was unexpected! 

Soft, surprisingly uncalloused fingers caressed his face, then slid into his hair- tugging until he found an angle he liked and deepened the kiss. Lance moaned, low and deep and craned up into the heated press of lips on lips, gorging himself on the taste of the kind, brave, strong, funny man that he’d spent the night talking to… and falling for.

This was crazy! 

It was impossible! 

Lance was a Prince, he couldn’t just… he shouldn’t… Shiro was a stablehand. Heroic, handsome, intelligent, and compassionate- yes… but for all that he looked like the handsome Prince from an epic romance, he was not of noble blood… and while Lance might just be enough of a romantic to think that running away together to travel the world like some kind of ballad was appealing, he was too devoted to his family to ever risk losing them.

Not ever- no matter how enraptured he was by these stolen kisses in the wee hours of the morning… and it had definitely become ‘kisses’ and not ‘kiss’. His head fell back against the wall with a thud, a soft sigh escaping him at the delicious sensation of Shiro’s stubble scraping against his neck as he burrowed into the folds of blanket to gain access to more of Lance’s skin. “Shirrrrro,” he cooed, arching into the fiery touch and prompting another smoldering kiss that contrasted so sweetly against the tender, almost reverent trailing fingertips, and powerful arm that had locked around his waist with a strength that made Lance melt.

“Lance,” Shiro panted brokenly when he finally lifted his head, “charming, beautiful, Lance… Come back? When you are returning home? Seek me out?”

“Yes… yes, fine... Alright. I’ll...” he struggled to catch his breath, glaring at the smug way that Shiro grinned at him, “I’ll find a way. That was… mmmm… powerful incentive…”

Chuckling, Shiro dipped his head down for another kiss but Lance pressed a finger to his lips, “you should go… there was… a reason you hurried me down here… and if you don’t go now…” He let the sentence trail off, because there were so many ways to finish it, and each more pressing than the last. Most immediately though was that he needed to secure the wig and return to his bed (alone) before the arrival of the maids with his belongings.

Shiro kissed his finger sweetly and lifted his head, “you’re right… I should go. I will see you again before you depart.”

He stole another quick, playful kiss to Lance’s cheek before he turned to head down the corridor and Lance ducked into his chambers to ready himself to greet the reality of the day without giving in to the temptation to watch him leave.

The dining hall where breakfast was being served was beautiful and cold. Tall ceilings, tall windows filled with stained glass that covered the pale marble floors in splashes of color and a deep, deep sense of emptiness. The more time he spent in this Castle, the colder it felt. Even as the braziers and fireplaces that blazed in every room crackled and churned out heat that felt like it might scorch his skin, he shivered. It wasn’t about the temperature, but the lack of warmth in the way that the people interacted. It was strange to him, because Shiro and the maids he’d spoken with were lovely. Kind, filled with concern and humor, easy to talk to and connect with… and yet… the chill that settled at the back of his neck when Sonda found him at the bottom of the wide stairwell that emptied into a huge entryway, only spread when he was presented to the King and Queen, running down his spine like ice water.

“Lancella, you’ve been invited to join the Royal Family for breakfast,” she’d informed him, grasping his elbow with fingers that felt more like claws digging into his skin and steering him toward one of the large, arched doorways. “You will sit quietly, smile, eat what is served to you, and answer any questions. You will not ask any of your own, nor will you address the King, Queen, or Prince without first being spoken to. When I introduce you, you will curtsy and thank them for the honor of their company. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” he replied, trying and failing to dislodge her grip on his elbow, “I can do that.”

“Good,” she’d bitten out, “do not make me regret the kindnesses offered to you.” By that time, they’d reached the double doors that led to the dining hall- which Lance had thought was an odd choice for a mid-week breakfast with only a single waylaid traveler as a guest, to be honest.

“Your Highnesses,” Sonda said, formal and crisp, “may I please present Lancella, who spent the night in the Tower Chamber after encountering trouble while travelling. Lancella, the King and Queen of Kerberos.”

“Your Majesties,” Lance murmured, dropping into a deep, graceful curtsy with practiced ease (he’d been the one teaching his niece this particular move). “My most ardent gratitude for your help and hospitality at my time of need.”

“You are welcome, you poor girl,” the King said with cool formality. “We are pleased to be able to share our bounty with those in need.”

“Such pretty manners,” the Queen added, her voice carefully saccharine, “you may rise and join us. Prince Takashi seems to be delayed this morning, but I am sure he will arrive presently.”

Sonda had vanished, but a seat was pulled back for him by a footman and he gave a small nod to the young man in the black livery as he slipped into the seat. “Thank-you for the kind words, Your Highness,” he said quietly, draping the napkin over his lap, “my parents will be pleased that I remembered my manners.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was a beautiful woman with dark, glossy hair pulled back from her face and nearly perfect bone structure. Her eyes were a soft grey and tipped up prettily, framed by thin, delicately arched brows. The King, likewise, was very handsome, with his square jaw and broad shoulders, his dark hair flecked with silver throughout, but most heavily at the temples. They made a striking couple. Regal and elegantly gorgeous, even this early in the morning.

“I trust you slept well,” she said, her voice trailing upwards to turn the statement into a question, between dainty sips of her tea. “I was told you were quite exhausted when you arrived.”

“I was. I am unaccustomed to travel, I’m afraid.” He laughed softly, “unfortunately, I was not able to get much rest. The quarters you provided were wonderful, but I fear my journey has left me with aches I wasn’t anticipating. I simply could _not_ get comfortable enough to rest. No matter what I did, it still felt like I was trying to sleep on the ground under my cart like I’d planned.”

Everyone went quiet and Lance feared he’d made a serious faux pas.

“You found the bed in the Tower Chamber uncomfortable?” she asked, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

“I’m sure it wasn’t the bed, Your Highness. All those mattresses and featherbeds? I’ve never encountered such a decadent and luxurious bed! No, I am certain that I was imagining the rocks I thought I felt digging into me. It must be a result of my journey. Please understand, I in no way think the fault lies with the shelter you provided me! And, in the end, I had a most pleasant night, regardless! I quite enjoy storms when I am warm and dry and when I went in search of a good vantage point I was reunited with my rescuer! I spent several hours in lovely conversation with Shiro. I must say, everyone I have met since arriving has been so very kind and gracious, Your Majesty. I’ve been made to feel most welcome.”

“You spent… _hours_ with Shiro? At night? _Unsupervised_?” the King confirmed, confusion and something that resembled shock plain on his face and in his voice.

“Ummm…” He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but he had a sinking suspicion that it had been a mistake to mention his visit with the handsome stablehand. 

“She couldn’t sleep in the Tower Chamber,” the Queen hissed, “you _know_ what that means!”

Oh no! _She_! He’d forgotten for an instant the implications of his disguise. His heart sank. If he’d caused trouble for Shiro with his lapse he’d never forgive himself. Male staff were fired over things like being alone with a young maiden of good breeding pretty often, but surely that didn’t carry over to complete strangers with no rank or indication of noble breeding! “I assure you, Shiro was the epitome of respect and kindness,” he said in a rush. It was true, even with their tongues in one another’s mouths, Shiro had been kind and respectful. If he lost his position because of Lance, he’d never forgive himself. He’d… he’d… insist that his own parents hire the handsome, kind man, is what he would do!

“Hours?” pressed the King, bringing him back to the matter at hand, “alone, with Shiro for hours? At night?”

“The _Tower Chamber_!! She felt the pea!” The Queen nearly shrieked, “you know what that means!”

No. No, he really had no idea at all what any of that meant! He desperately wanted to defend Shiro again, but without a better understanding of what the problem was he had no way of knowing how to fix it. Silently he cursed his lack of sleep. He knew he’d be less confused if he’d been more well rested, but the few moments of light dozing he’d gotten while curled up with Shiro had been the most rest he’d had since he’d been in his own bed back home.

“I’m sorry for the delay, Father, Mother,” the doors opened, “there were matters that needed my attention in the-”

“Takashi!” Roaring, the King surged to his feet, the poor footman barely managing to catch the heavy chair before it toppled onto the floor. “Is it true that you spent the night with this young woman?”

“She’s _Royalty!_” cried the Queen, who spun in her seat to grab Lance’s hand. “I believe you, my dear,” she whispered fervently, “I might not approve of your tactics- arriving disguised as a peasant, without proper chaperone, but I believe that you were alone with the Prince all night. Clever little Princess.” She patted Lance’s hand, her eyes flashing with a happiness that was nearly manic. He had no idea what was happening, exactly, but he did know that it was spiraling out of control very quickly. “No worries, we’ll summon the Priest immediately!”

“Answer me, Takashi!” The King’s large hand pounded into the table, drawing Lance’s attention away from the Queen to the King. “Did you lay one hand on our guest?”

“I-”

His eyes finally lit on the new arrival and he blinked, not fully comprehending what he saw for an instant. “_Shiro?!?_”

“I… umm… for some reason I thought you would be breaking your fast in the kitchens,” Shiro said, “I’m so sorry… If I had known, I would have told you about-”

“Do not ignore me, _Shiro_!”

Shiro flinched, steeling his shoulders before he turned to face the King… his father. “I’m sorry, Father,” he said and there was something about his voice that made rage curl in Lance’s gut. All those stories about the Prince, the King and the Queen Shiro had told him- they were about his own childhood. The close companion that had been sent away. The refusal to wed… a Princess… oh… _oh no!_

Understanding washed over Lance like a cold wave. The Queen, somehow, had figured out that he had Royal blood, but she thought he was a girl. She thought he was a Princess! A Princess who had been alone with the Prince she had been trying to marry off to a Royal _girl_ for years! 

The Priest! Good Lord, she was angling for an immediate wedding!

Yanking his hand back he tried to stand, but his own seat was pushed too close to the table. He opened his mouth to try to get Shiro’s attention, hoping to signal to him to deny it, to claim that the visitor was a liar. Anything. But he was too late, Shiro was already nodding, “yes Father, it is true. We spent the night in the Cartography Library. It was near dawn when I returned Lancella to her room.”

Lance’s blood ran cold as the King turned to look at his wife, the vicious triumph etched into his features matching the glee that lit up her own. They saw this as a victory, he realised. It turned his stomach. They thought that Lance was a conniving Princess who had manipulated their son and trapped him in a situation that could only be solved by a forced marriage and they were _happy_ about it! How awful for Shiro! To be raised by parents that thought that way must have been miserable!

“My King,” the Queen was practically purring, “you heard his admission with your own ears. Our young guest passed the test with flying colors. Even under twenty mattresses and twenty featherbeds, her delicate, well bred bloodline revealed itself in her ability to feel the pea! We have much to arrange!”

“You are right, my Queen,” he answered, “the Priest must be summoned, the Chapel made ready… a feast planned. Come… let us leave the newly betrothed to eat while we make the arrangements!”

Lance watched in speechless horror as they swept out of the room, followed by the footman, both of them smiling like cats that got into the cream. How could they be so happy? How could they have so little concern for their child’s happiness? His heart broke for Shiro. He couldn’t even muster up any offence at the knowledge that they thought he’d schemed to snare a husband.

“If I’d known that they would invite you to join us, I would have told you,” Shiro said quietly. “I am very sorry about all of this.”

“It’s alright,” Lance answered, “I’m just glad that you don’t think the same thing as your mother… that I was trying to…”

He shook his head, “of course not. Mother thinks that everyone is as sly as she is.” Sighing, he smiled sadly, “no one is as sly as Mother.”

“You could have told them that I am a man,” Lance observed. “It would have stopped all of this in its tracks.”

“That’s not my information to share, Lance.” Dropping into the chair across from him, Shiro poured himself a cup of tea from the china pot on the table. “I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”

“I could… tell them, I mean. If you want me to.”

“You _could_?” He lifted his head, eyes curious, “that makes it sound like you are considering not speaking up at all.”

“If I don’t… this would be your only chance to marry… someone who suits your tastes, I mean… wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, I think I made it quite clear that you, Lance, are very much to ‘my tastes’.” His laugh was short, pain-filled and bitter. “But.. you mean a man? Yes… this would be my only chance to marry a man… unless I turned my back on them, renounced my title. Abandoned my people. Are you really of Royal blood?” 

He nodded, “I am. Prince Lancel of Varadero. I’ve been travelling to visit my sister Veronica in Altea. I… didn’t mean to cause anything like this! I… I just missed her and I wanted to talk to her about… it doesn’t matter. I found a map with the mountain pass and realized how close she was and… I’m so sorry I’ve caused you so much upheaval.”

“So, if we wed… they wouldn’t be able to have it dissolved without creating an international incident when they found out.” Shiro shook his head, another of those dark laughs escaping him. “What did you want to talk to her about that was so important that you went to such lengths?”

“Uh,” he blushed, “it seems so silly now… my parents… They are inviting suitors to the Court this season. I wanted to know… I wanted to ask her- Veronica is very smart, you need to understand that. She’s… astute. Clever. I… um… I wanted to know how to tell if someone liked who I was more than the crown on my head. I… didn’t want to be wed to someone who didn’t see me as a person they wanted to share a life with. I know that I will have to go… just… so far from my family when I marry. I’ve always known that, but it’s so hard to be away from them. I needed… I need to know that there would be… good things, to offset the pain. It’s silly. A childish fear. I know that. But Veronica, she’ll know how to soothe it.”

“I thought you wanted to see the world?”

“I do,” Lance plucked at the table cloth, afraid to look at Shiro’s face, “but any travelling I do… uh… after this ill-planned venture… it will be with my spouse, and I’d like to get along with them. Besides, wanting to see the world doesn’t mean I don’t also want to see my niece and nephew grow up and be able to visit my siblings more than once or twice a decade!”

“I can’t imagine anyone meeting you and not enjoying your company, Lance. You are kind and funny and charming and handsome.” He sipped his tea, and when Lance glanced at him, he smiled wistfully, “I don’t think you have to worry overmuch about ending up wed to someone who prefers your crown. They’d have to be blind and deaf and an utter dullard.”

“Yes, well… unless one of us puts a stop to this, we’ll never know one way or the other. So… Shiro… do you want me to put a stop to this?”

“Are you… are you saying you’d be willing to go through with it if I didn’t?”

Taking a deep breath, he counted to three, “I don’t want to deny you your one chance to… I swear I am usually much more eloquent than this! You deserve to at least have the _chance_ at a happy marriage… so… I think… that if you think you have that chance with me, then… yes. I’m willing to go through with this.”

“What about being courted by all those suitors?”

“My parents are inviting Royals from allied countries,” Lance answered, “technically, you’d be on that list.”

“This is crazy,” he rubbed at his face, “we just met last night!”

“But?” He held his breath, waiting for Shiro’s reply… because, honestly, it wasn’t nearly as scary and off-putting as it should be. Honestly, he kind of loved the idea of marrying this man… this _Prince_. He liked him a lot, his hero. More than he would have thought possible after such a short time.

“But… I just keep thinking that… I won’t have to worry about you not bothering to stop on your return trip.” Shiro’s smile was sheepish, his cheeks coloring with an adorable blush. “Or being turned away at your bedroom door again.”

Lance blinked at him for a solid minute until Shiro shrugged one shoulder as if to say ‘you asked’ and Lance found himself dissolving into delighted, flustered laughter. “Then I guess we are doing this, then. We just… need to find a way to let the Priest know my real name and keep it a secret from everyone else until tomorrow morning!”

Shiro grinned at him, and Lance felt his heart skip a beat. He opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he’d been about to say died on his lips when the doors swung open again, this time to reveal a different footman, carrying a tray with four covered dishes. He stopped short, clearly surprised by the absence of the King and Queen. “My parents had things that needed their immediate attention,” Shiro said instead of whatever he’d been planning, “but our guest and I still wish to eat now.”

“Of course, Sire,” the footman said, setting the tray on the sideboard and settling one covered dish in front of each of them.

“Thank-you,” Lance murmured.

“Yes, thank-you,” Shiro echoed, “and I’m sure we’ll be fine here. I’ll ring if we need anything. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Sire,” the footman nodded, bowing sharply as he collected the remaining plates and exited “we shall be listening for your bell, of course, Sire.”

“Eat up, _Princess_,” Shiro teased, grey eyes sparkling.

Lance rolled his eyes, but lifted the cover to reveal eggs and sausage and some kind of juice that he didn’t recognize. “It smells delicious,” he observed, “so I will… but not because you told me to. Equal footing, you and I… if this marriage is going to work, we have to be on equal footing.”

“Does that mean I don’t get to carry you off again? Because I liked that… and given your reaction when I set you down, I think you did, too.”

“Shiro!” he gasped, feigning shock, “my scandalized maiden ears!”

The morning was spent with them both writing up marriage announcements to be delivered to all of Lance’s family, as well as to the more distant relations to Shiro’s family, and the appropriate nobles from their own and allied Kingdoms. If they wrote them themselves and sealed them before they ever left their sight, they could ensure that the information that was sent out was accurate. The more people that knew that Shiro had wed _Prince_ Lancel, they safer they were from a forced annulment or banishment. It was hard for Lance to fathom being as calm as Shiro was about the possibility of losing his family over something so inherent to who he was, but Shiro pressed on with quiet determination and a kind of sad acceptance. “Father will be furious, but I think I know how to shield us both from the worst of his temper without arising any suspicions. He has always said that our line is more important than the feelings of any one point on it. My hope is that he will come around to seeing things that way once again when he realizes that he cannot undo this marriage and pretend it never happened.”

Unable to bear the thought that Shiro might be wrong about his father, Lance moved his chair closer and patted Shiro’s thigh in reassurance, “I’m sure it is cold comfort to hear about a group of strangers, but I assure you, my family will welcome you with open arms and accept you just as you are. You won’t be alone, Shiro, no matter what.”

“Patience yields focus,” Shiro whispered, “he will see that he left me with little recourse once he remembers that and looks at things objectively.”

“I hope so,” Lance breathed, “for your sake, I hope you are right, but in the meantime, I know I am right about my family. They’ll love you. Every last one of them.”

“Thank-you, Lance. That means more than you think.”

He’d barely finished the letters that would accompany the announcements when Sonda arrived to whisk him away for wedding preparations. Shiro promised he would handle ensuring that the right messengers got the missives, ready to embark as soon as the wedding ceremony ended.

Back in the Tower Chamber, Lance was able to dissuade the staff from giving him too much help with the simple, but well-made, silvery-blue gown provided for him to wear for the ceremony. He’d never pictured himself making his wedding vows in a dress, but he also never imagined he’d be getting married without any of his own family present after knowing his betrothed for less than twenty-four hours, either… so… he tried not to dwell on it. Hopefully, they could do a vow renewal with his whole family present, but if they couldn’t, he knew that his parents would throw them a big feast to celebrate, at least. 

The wedding was held in the chapel that evening. The sky was red and purple and pink with the setting sun as Lance was ushered into the small building that sat beside the Guardian of the Skies. It was so beautiful that it made him pause at the threshold to breathe it in. Kerberos was incredibly gorgeous! He hadn’t gotten a chance to take in the view when he’d arrived amid a rainstorm the night before, but now he got to see a little bit of what Shiro had talked about. Bright green pastures peeked out between the jagged peaks of the mountain range, dotted with what could only be small villages. The people Shiro loved. His country and its citizens. When Lance left this building again, they would be his, as well and the thought filled him with and excited pride.

He was startled from his reverie by a bouquet of little blue star-shaped flowers and white pansies that was pressed into his hand. They complimented the dress surprisingly well and the maid smiled warmly at him as she fussed with the veil pinned to his hair. “Prince Takashi picked them himself this afternoon,” she explained. “He’s always been like that… thoughtful, like.”

“That was sweet of him,” Lance replied, “I hadn’t even thought of flowers.”

“Every blushing bride deserves flowers!”

Lance nodded along, not wanting to stir up any suspicions. The Chapel was lit with candles, the fading light making the stained glass glow softly. It was eerily pretty. Nothing really felt _real_, but it was a good, dreamy kind of unreal. Shiro looked _unreasonably_ handsome in his Court finery, and Lance barely resisted the impulse to laugh when he bowed deeply to kiss Lance’s knuckles and whispered, “you look breathtaking, Princess.”

The Priest cleared his throat, his loosely curled hand hiding a smile. When Lance had explained the situation to him he’d been patient and understanding. The quirk of him lips and sparkle in his eyes when the full story was laid out for him made Lance think that he had a similar sense of humor to his own and Shiro’s… and really, how often was a wedding also _kind of_ a prank? Well, not really _a prank_, but there was definitely an element of misdirection and a certain amount of ‘that’ll show’em’ involved. 

Regardless, it turned out that he was surprisingly cooperative and thankfully, neither of Shiro’s parents seemed to notice that ‘Lancella’ was ‘Lancel’ during the ceremony, or find it odd when the Priest pronounced them ‘married’ instead of ‘man and wife’ and bade them to kiss. The way his heart had stuttered and his knees went weak even from the Church-appropriate press of lips to lips combined with Shiro’s quietly encouraging smile when they were signing their names to the marriage certificate silenced any whispers of worry or regret that might have been starting to make themselves known as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

They walked out of the Chapel into the night, hand in hand, the ring on his finger feeling oddly heavy and alien, and stopped in almost the exact spot where Lance had paused on the way in. Those bursts of green were invisible to him now, but specks of light flickered in the little villages. Lance couldn’t help but imagine all the families settling in for the evening.

“Mother? Can we take a moment? My Princess loves the stars, and I want to show off one of Kerberos’ best features.”

“Of course, Takashi,” she answered, sounding genuinely warm and happy, “but do not dally too long. Your wedding feast awaits.”

It was mere moments before they were alone, and Lance held his hand out for Shiro to hold. “Thank-you.”

“We were blessed with a clear night,” Shiro answered, shrugging, “I wanted you to get to see the stars wake.”

“Everything is so beautiful here,” Lance whispered, leaning into his husband’s side.

“I have always thought so.” He let go of Lance’s hand to wrap an arm around his shoulder instead and Lance curled into the warmth he offered. “That ship your brother used to talk about- the one that caught the nightmares… did it have a name?”

“It did,” Lance whispered, “the Oriande. Do you think it is up there?”

“Seems likely… so many of my nightmares are gone now. Because of you.”

He tipped his face up to smile at him, “charmer.”

“It’s true. My nightmares were… being alone for my whole life. Never being able to share my rule with anyone I truly wanted to. Never having my parents at my side when I wed. Never having a husband. All gone and done. Caught in those nets forever.”

“I’m glad. The ceremony was lovely.”

“Mmhmm… I really like that Priest.”

“Your parents seem pleased…”

“For now,” Shiro sighed, “so… before we go in. Here’s my plan. Let me know if you think it will work.”

Once this was done with, Lance was never wearing a wig again, he decided. Surreptitiously, he leaned into Shiro’s shoulder and used the contact to scratch an itchy spot on his scalp.

“What are you doing?” his husband whispered, giving him an odd look.

“Being cute?” He scrunched his nose up and smiled adorably. Shiro seemed charmed, but unimpressed. “Fine. Wigs’re evil,” he sighed, voice soft. “How much longer?”

“We still have to dance,” Shiro answered, “just the one dance, then we are done.”

“I love to dance,” his face lit up. “I wonder if we have the same dances.”

“I hope so, or this might be a bit of a mess,” chuckled Shiro, gesturing for them to start the music. “You’ve had a fair bit of wine, Princess… are you sure you aren’t going to trip on your train?”

He was ready to angrily defend his alcohol tolerance when he realized what Shiro was doing- giving him an excuse to explain away any clumsiness he might experience trying to dance in a gown. Thoughtful, the maid had said and the truth of it warmed his heart. Before he knew it, he was in his husband’s arms and unfamiliar music filled the ballroom. “Either I lead,” Lance said softly, “which means not going backwards in a dress to music I don’t know… or you lead and I might trip. This’ll be fun.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Shiro laughed, one hand settling on his hip, the other lifting Lance’s hand to his lips so he could kiss the wedding ring. “Just trust your Hero, alright, my Princess?”

“You are really enjoying the whole ‘Princess’ thing,” he muttered, nodding his agreement.

“It amuses me,” Shiro agreed easily, “left foot first…”

And just like that, Lance was being twirled and spun around the dance floor by one of the most handsome men he’d ever laid eyes on. Shiro could dance! He was starting to think that love at first sight was a real thing, because… damn… he’d never fallen for anyone like this before. “You picked the flowers for my bouquet,” he whispered once he had a solid grasp of the steps, “why?”

“I thought you’d like them… and I wanted you holding something from someone who knew the truth of you, since so much else was pageantry. Did you?”

Oh, he was so close to perfect, this man! “I did,” Lance answered, “they were beautiful. I’m going to press some of them in a book. As a memento.”

“The ring and the husband aren’t enough reminders?” Teasing. Lance loved that Shiro wasn’t afraid to tease and joke with him in the midst of what had to be a very stressful, difficult day for him. “I’m kind of hard to miss.”

“The flowers are a reminder of how sweet you can be… for when we fight.”

“Ouch! We are celebrating our wedding and you are thinking about when we fight?”

“Mmhmm… couples fight, Shiro… and then they make-up. It’s how it works.”

“I hear that making up can be worth the arguments,” Shiro purred into his ear, his breath brushing over the sensitive flesh. “Song’s almost over, Princess.”

He shivered, “and then we can get out of here?”

“Impatient? I’m flattered.”

“Wigs’re evil,” he countered, grinning impishly, “remember?”

Shiro laughed, the hand at Lance’s hip slipping around his back and yanking him tight to his chest an instant before his lips settled over Lance’s in a bone-meltingly soft kiss. Dancing all but forgotten, Lance sighed into the kiss, his own hand moving to wrap around the back of Shiro’s neck. Oh yeah, love at first sight _had_ to be real, because Lance couldn’t think of any other possible explanation for this… feeling in his chest.

Nipping playfully at Lance’s bottom lip, Shiro lifted his head. His ears were red, which was adorable, and his breathing had a rasp to it that sent little shivers through Lance. “Princess,” he groaned, “we are finished with the dancing.” 

“I concur,” Lance giggled, thumb tracing over the warm, reddened skin of Shiro’s ear, which prompted him to tighten his grip reflexively. Lance stored _that_ information away for later. 

“Thank-you everyone for your hard work today, and for celebrating with us. Please, feel free to continue with the revelry, but the newlyweds are retiring for the night!” He smiled down at Lance, “ready darling?”

“Ready,” he answered, turning slightly to add his own thanks and words of appreciation only for it to transform into a shocked squawk. “Shiro! Put me down! I can walk!”  
“Oh no,” Shiro rumbled into his ear, “I’ve been thinking about carrying you to my bedchamber _all night_!”

Face burning with the blush triggered by that little tidbit of knowledge, Lance relented, hiding his reddened cheeks in the curve of Shiro’s neck. Had the wedding happened at his home instead of Shiro’s, his family would have erupted into teasing and affectionate heckling at that, but here they were celebrating with Shiro’s parents and the staff of the Castle. The King and Queen were far more reserved than Lance’s parents, and the staff would never be so irreverent of their Prince, so there were a few murmurs, but mostly it was simply polite applause in response to the thanks and permission to continue to make merry.

Lance wasn’t exactly huge, but he also wasn’t a small man. He was slender, but tall, and he spent a significant amount of time training for combat, hunting, and swimming which built up a layer of lean muscle over his long limbs and narrow torso. As such, he wasn’t accustomed to the idea that anyone would _carry_ him unless he was gravely injured, but Shiro made it seem effortless, and Lance was finding that he kind of loved it. It didn’t hurt that Shiro made no secret of how much _he_ liked having Lance tucked up against his chest, arms looped over his shoulder, with his breath on his throat and collarbones.

It only occurred to Lance that he should be paying attention to the route to Shiro’s chambers when they actually reached them and he had no idea what wing they were even in. If he’d expected Shiro to set him down once they were past the threshold, he was sorely mistaken. He kicked the door closed behind them with one heel and then those strong legs strode through the sitting room with the ease of long familiarity. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly when they breached the second threshold.

“Me? I’m fine- _not_ suffering the effects of too much wine, despite rumors you may hear to the contrary.”

“That’s not… quite what I meant…” He sounded so shy all of a sudden that Lance very nearly cooed at him.

“Ahhh… in that case, I’m most impatient to be rid of this wig and corset and join you in that big bed.” Lord, his husband had the world’s best smile!

“I must admit,” Shiro purred, “I am most impatient to finally get a good look at the _Prince_ I wed!”

For the first time, Lance felt self-conscious. He was generally fairly confident about his appearance, but Shiro had only ever seen him in dresses or bundled up under a quilt. It wasn’t exactly an _accurate_ representation of what he looked like. It didn’t help his sudden nerves that his newly acquired husband was the single most handsome man he’d ever seen, either! But… Shiro’s expression held only curiosity, not wariness. His grey eyes glittered darkly with desire, and that smile was… eager. It was hard to stay nervous when Shiro was looking at him like that. “I’m probably going to need some help with all these layers…”

“I am at your service, Princess,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss Lance gently. 

There it was again, that sudden, powerful jolt of arousal. Until just that day, the first time Shiro had kissed him, he’d had no idea what the whole ‘swooning’ phenomenon was about. It had seemed like simple theatrics to him (not that he was averse to theatrics, mind you!) when he’d heard his peers titter and giggle about feeling faint from a simple touch, or giddy and drunk from a kiss. He hadn’t thought they were being literal! 

But then… Shiro stroked his thumb along Lance’s jaw and the touch radiated all the way to his toes in delicious ripples of pleasure. His tongue licked into Lance’s mouth and his head swam like he’d stood up too fast after four glasses of champagne. Lance’s hands slid up over those biceps and across those broad shoulders to play with the short, dark hair and it felt like he was caught in a dream, all soft focus and fuzzy edges.

“Love kissing you,” Shiro whispered against his lips as Lance felt the soft give of the mattress beneath him and the warm weight of his husband settling over him. “Can’t get enough of kissing you.”

As it turned out, Shiro was endearingly inept at navigating women’s clothing. It was far easier to rid him of his Court finery in between layers of gown and petticoats and corsetry. There was much laughter and frustrated, impatient grumbling interrupted by distracting bouts of kissing before they finally got down to shedding the shift and stockings and bloomers. Lance had no idea where any of the discarded clothing had ended up, but he couldn’t really be bothered to care much because, “sweet Lord, you are beautiful, my Hero.”

They were naked, kneeling on the bed facing each other, but not touching and Shiro’s nose crinkled self-consciously, “the scars…”

“Are beautiful,” Lance insisted, shifting so he could press heated, open mouthed kisses along Shiro’s collarbone. “You’re beautiful and they are part of you… so they are beautiful too… Like your eyes.” He traced one eyebrow with a soft pass of his finger, then dragged his thumb over Shiro’s kiss-swollen lower lip, watching the way it moved under the pressure, “and your smile. You’re the most beautiful man I have ever seen.”

“Charmer,” teased Shiro, reminding Lance of their conversation outside the chapel. He wrapped his arms around Lance, both his hands grasping strong thighs and yanking him closer.

Lance toppled against Shiro’s chest with a laugh, “you didn’t have to marry me… I could have spoken up and mmmph…” The kiss that silenced him was fierce. Hungry. Those strong hands tightened on his thighs and lifted, prompting Lance to coil his legs around Shiro’s narrow hips. Once he was wrapped around his husband he felt hands skim tenderly over his back- fingertips and palms tracing over muscles and ribs. Then he felt the heavy satin of the quilt against his back again and Shiro was raining little kisses over his face, soft and sweet.

“I think I did, though,” he whispered, his face tucked into the curve of Lance’s throat, “not because of honor, or my parents, or any of that… just…” His lips latched on to the corded muscle and worked a love bite into being and by the time he stopped, Lance could barely remember what he’d been talking about. “Just… because I couldn’t bear the thought of _not_ marrying you… if you were willing… I wouldn’t pressure you…” He lifted his head, his hand cupped Lance’s jaw so their eyes could meet, “you didn’t feel like I was pressuring you, did you?”

“Not even for an instant,” Lance answered, smiling softly. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I felt pressured- I don’t react well to that kind of thing and, by all accounts, I can be annoyingly rebellious and stubborn. I wanted to marry you. I want to be your husband. I want you to be mine.”

“Yours,” his smile softened and some lingering tension in his face let go. “Til death do us part.”

“Mmmhmm… that’s the deal we signed,” he answered, rocking his hips, reminding Shiro of the natural conclusion of the attraction they shared. “And it’ll be nice and ironclad as soon as we get on with consummating this whole marriage thing.”

Shiro groaned, one hand settling on Lance’s hip. He changed the way they fit together slightly and return Lance’s hip roll with a slow, lazy grind that left Lance whimpering and clutching at his back. “Yeah… we should… definitely… do that…”

Drawing Shiro's face down to his, Lance let himself get swept away in kisses and touches and the give and take of learning one another. Their wedding night had a few hiccups- a spilt bottle of perfumed oil intended to ease intimacy between them left the whole bedspread rather overwhelmingly fragrant, an ill-timed discovery that Shiro was ticklish distracted them for a bit, and there was some trial and error when it came to the actual consummation- but by the time they stripped the oil-stained bedspread from the bed and deposited it in the sitting room to air out, crawled between the clean sheets to let exhaustion overtake them Lance was ready to declare it a resounding success. The bed was soft and inviting, Shiro’s heartbeat in his ear soothing, and the blankets warm and cozy. For the first time in days, Lance actually slept.

Morning was a whirlwind of activity. The newlyweds took breakfast in their chambers, distracting themselves from the morning after awkwardness and the looming threat of discovery with food and dressing. By the time Lance was securing his wig and Shiro was finishing the letter to his parents, they’d figured out how much space each of them needed to adjust to the sudden changes. Shiro’s plan was solid. His logic was sound. All Lance could do was have faith in his husband and hope for the best as he helped pack up two trunks worth of clothing and Shiro’s most cherished possessions.

By lunch, they were sneaking out through the kitchens to the stables, where Kaltenecker and Lance’s little cart, plus Ebony with the little cariole, and another horse- this one a pretty bay roan gelding- were waiting for them, the cariole and cart already loaded down for travel. 

“We should clear the mountains in a couple of hours, barring any bad snarls from the rain.” Shiro commented as he helped Lance mount Jasper, the bay roan. “With any luck, we should be arriving at the Castle of Lions by night fall.”

“That doesn’t give my sister and her wife long to prepare for your arrival, but I guess it couldn’t be helped.”

“The messengers left last night. It’s the best we could manage.” Shiro pressed a kiss to his knuckles, thumb rubbing over the wedding band that still felt alien on his finger before he pulled away to climb onto Ebony and led their tiny caravan away from the castle he’d grown up in.

They didn’t quite make it to Veronica’s doorstep in Altea before nightfall. The sky was fully dark before they turned onto the long, delicate-looking bridge that spanned from the riverside to the island that housed the Castle of Lions, but their welcome was warm and enthusiastic. Veronica waffled between overjoyed to see him, and livid that he would be so ‘reckless and duplicitous’... with some detours through excited questions about the unexpected marriage, and many, many hugs. It was almost exactly as he imagined it. He hadn’t imagined how amusing his sister-in-law the Queen would find the whole adventure, or that his groom would turn out to be so _shy_ with them, though!

Shiro’s plan worked amazingly well. Since his parents didn’t know exactly where they had traveled beyond ‘to visit Lancel’s family’ it wasn’t as easy to follow them or cut them off in their travels, and the greater the delay, the more people found out about the wedding, and the harder it became to either disown their son and heir, or quietly dissolve the marriage. 

So, they spent a fortnight with the Altean Royal family before embarking on the next leg of their journey. With more notice of their arrival, Lance’s sister Rachel was able to put together a welcome more suitable to they arrival of the Crown Prince of Kerberos and his new husband, along with the entourage that Queen Allura had insisted on providing them. Once again, Shiro was welcomed into the fold with curiosity and happy excitement, and responded with endearing shyness. Their Season launched shortly after Lance and Shiro’s arrival and soon enough they were caught up in a busy social life and in doting on Rachel’s infant daughter. It was more than a month before they even _thought_ about travelling again.

A visit with Marco and his husband, Regris followed that. Shiro and Regris became fast friends, which made sense to Lance, because he knew that he was very similar in personality to his brother, Marco. Summer was well underway in Marmora for the entirety of their visit and Lance would be a bold-faced liar if he ever claimed not to be a fan of how Shiro looked in the Marmoran warm weather fashions. They got along surprisingly well, even for newlyweds and it felt like they grew closer daily. Married life seemed to agree with both of them.

The leaves were turning by the time Lance returned to Varadero amid over the top celebrations with his husband in tow. Shiro was a nervous wreck, which Lance couldn’t wrap his head around. Everyone loved Shiro. Both of his sisters, his brother, all of their spouses… the children, the other nobles. Everyone. It wasn’t hard to see why. Shiro was kind and gracious, handsome without being vain. He listened closely when someone spoke to him and was always ready to offer a helping hand or a compassionate ear. He was a skilled dancer and card player, an accomplished rider, and had a good sense of humor. As far as Lance was concerned, his husband was about as close to perfect as one person could come.

“Finally,” Lance purred, holding Shiro’s hand in his own. “You get to see Varadero. Just like you said you wanted back at the Guardian of The Sky.”

“That seems so long ago,” he answered, shifting forward in the carriage that Marco and Regris had provided them to peer out the window and wave to the cheering crowds. “I never expected it to really happen… or for my arrival to cause _such_ an uproar.”

“You’re the Crown Prince of Kerberos, darling,” Lance laughed, “even if you hadn’t married the beloved youngest child of the Royal Family you’d get this kind of welcome!”

He shook his head, “I never really thought about that, I guess. The idea of ever leaving Kerberos seemed impossible… and now… I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.”

“You’ll go back,” Lance assured him. In the months since the wedding Shiro hadn’t heard from his parents, but in many ways, no news was good news. “If they were going to disinherit you, they would have done it by now.”

“You don’t know that,” Shiro smiled sadly, “not with any certainty.”

“I have faith,” he leaned across the gap in the seating to kiss him softly. When he pulled back, Shiro was smiling again.

“Like your faith that your family will like me?”

Lance shook his head, “uh-uh… I _know_ that my family will _love_ you… because you are good to me and I am happy… but also because you are you… and anyone who _doesn’t_ love you is either addlepated or heartless.”

Hours later, after a boisterous reunion with his parents and eldest brother, and his nieces and nephews, sister-in-law, and cousins, Lance tugged Shiro into his old quarters. His parents had set up new chambers for them that were better suited for a couple, but Lance wanted Shiro to see his _home_, and to Lance, that meant the rooms he’d called his own for so long. He gave his husband the grand tour, telling story after story that related to each and every knick-knack and momento he’d collected over the years. 

“So, this is the original Kaltenecker, hmm?” Shiro asked, slipping his arms around Lance from behind, his chin resting on Lance’s shoulder.

“Mmmhmm… kept me safe through many, many scary nights,” Lance answered, leaning back into the embrace.

“Your hero,” Shiro teased.

“Oh no, that’s you. Always has been, always will be.” He turned to press a kiss to Shiro’s cheek. “My Hero… and what did I tell you about my family?”

“Fine,” he shook his head with a smile, “yes, you were right. I didn’t need to be so nervous.”

“Mmhmm, my family loves you already… and we are going to stay here, with them, until spring… and if we aren’t called back to Kerberos by then?”

Relaxing a little, Shiro shifted, turning Lance in his arms so he could kiss him sweetly, “then we are going to board a ship and travel.”

“Exactly, just like we’ve both always wanted… as long as neither of us have commitments to oversee, we are going to take advantage of that freedom. We’re going to see the world!”

“Together.”

“I love you, my Hero,” Lance cooed, snuggling close. Things might not be perfect, but they were better than good, and he knew that whatever challenges they faced, he and Shiro would make the most of the life they had together, because they came so close to never meeting in the first place.

“I love you, too, my Princeling,” Shiro answered and instead of bristling at the term, Lance couldn’t help but smile. It was such an improvement over _’Princess!’_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked the story! I'm sorry it is a little late, there was a bit more story than I expected!


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